Grey Area
by AuroraRose1959
Summary: The evolution of the relationship between Scott Summers and Jean Grey. These are the defining moments they share that we don't get to see in the series. Switches perspectives with each chapter. Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. The time I first met him

"Jean, I'd like you to meet Scott Summers. Scott, this is Jean Grey, my very first student."

And only student," I teased. "Until now?" I looked over at Scott. It was a little hard to tell behind the weird red sunglasses he was wearing, but he looked like he was about my age. He was tall and lanky like pretty much every guy in my sophomore class seemed to be. Brown hair. Pleasant enough expression. Slightly ill-fitting sweater. Khaki pants. Overall just really average. I would never have suspected him of being . . . well, like me. But then, I reasoned, I looked pretty average too.

"Until now," the Professor confirmed with a smile. "Scott is going to be joining us here at the Institute."

"Hi." Scott lifted his hand in awkward greeting and I in turn lifted the corners of my mouth in an awkward smile.

Thankfully, we were rescued from the awkwardness by Storm's voice bursting into the room. _"Professor, could you come to the control room?"_

"What? Is everything-"

 _"Jean."_ If that tone of voice-mental voice?-wasn't enough to convey that I'd screwed up, the look the Professor was giving me certainly did.

"Sorry, Professor." Why couldn't I get control of this stupid telepathy thing? The Professor knew how hard I was trying, but he still always sounded so disappointed every time I messed up. I really hadn't meant to hear Storm calling him. It wasn't like I wanted to mentally eavesdrop on everybody.

The Professor smiled. "Jean, why don't you give Scott a tour? It seems I am needed elsewhere." And with that, he left.

"So." Scott shoved his hands in his pockets. "What was that about?"

"Oh, well, uh," I played with a strand of my hair, my eyes darting about the room. He was going to find out anyway, so I figured maybe it was better to just get it out right now. But that didn't mean I wanted to. I swallowed hard. "One of the reasons I'm here is that I can hear people's thoughts. In my head. The Professor calls it telepathy." Looking up at him, I tried to gage his reaction, but it was really hard to tell with those sunglasses. I continued in a rush, "I try really hard not to, but I have to focus to not hear stuff, so sometimes I still do, accidentally. But I am getting better."

He seemed to be making a deliberate attempt to show no reaction. "One of the reasons? What's the rest?"

I bit back a grin. Here was something I didn't mind showing off. Looking about the study for inspiration, I settled on the pitcher of water and empty glasses that were sitting on a side table. I primly sat down on the leather sofa next to it and did my best to keep my hands in my lap as I used my mind to lift the pitcher and pour some water into a glass. I finally did lift a shaking hand as I used my mental energy to levitate the glass toward me, finally grabbing it and taking a quiet sip.

Now that I wasn't having to focus so hard to use my power, I was able to fully appreciate the fact that Scott's mouth had dropped open. He quickly shut it again. "That's so cool!"

I focused on lifting the pitcher again, letting myself lift my hand toward it to make it easier. I grinned at Scott. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like a glass?"

He grinned back and sat on the other side of the sofa while I poured more water and brought it to him. He downed half of it. "I've never seen anything like this. How do you do it? I mean, do you just think about it? Or do you have to move your hand like that?"

"The Professor thinks that it's an entirely mental ability-telekinesis. It's easier for me to move something if I use my hands, too, but apparently that's just some sort of psychological thing. Makes me feel steadier." It felt really good to be able to talk to somebody openly like this. For the first time in six months I felt . . . normal.

I shifted in my seat to face Scott better. "So what can you do?"

"I can't really show you." His smile had tightened. "These shades the Professor gave me are the only thing keeping me from destroying the building."

"Your eyes?"

"They emit these beams. Really, really forceful. And," he looked down at his lap, "I can't turn it off. The only way to make it stop is to shut my eyes. The Professor says these glasses are made of ruby-quartz. Apparently that's the only substance I can't penetrate."

I didn't really know what to say. I wondered what happened when his powers first manifested, how he'd coped with them since then without the glasses, and I started to think maybe I'd had it comparatively easy.

Scott looked back up at me. "I can only see in shades of red now, but it's either that or keep my eyes shut for the rest of my life, so I'll take it."

"Well, at the moment, you're not missing much, because my hair's about as red as it gets." I realized as I said this that it was a pretty lame attempt to lighten the mood, but somehow it worked because Scott smiled. "Come on. I'll show you around."

We spent the rest of the day wandering through the Institute. Scott had questions about everything, and I began to realize how little I still knew, despite having lived there for five months. But I was beginning to finally understand the Professor's vision for the school. Obviously Scott and I didn't know each other well, and of course it would take time for us to actually be friends. But here was someone I didn't have to hide from. I could be as open with Scott as I wanted to. Just having that simple freedom made me feel like we were normal after all.


	2. The time I met her boyfriend

I warily eyed my new course schedule, wishing not for the first time that I wasn't starting at Bayville High two weeks into the spring semester. I felt a light touch on my left arm and looked over to see Jean reading over my shoulder.

"Okay, so your first class is down that hallway to the right, all the way at the end. Trig will be right here," she subtly nodded toward the door just to our left. "And you're in my history class after that, so I'll make sure I happen to be at the water fountain here so I can show you where our classroom is." She looked over at me, suddenly apologetic. "Sorry, I just know I felt like a dork being the only sophomore with a school map last semester."

"No, no, I appreciate it. Really." I ran a hand through my hair. "It's, uh, it's nice knowing someone here."

She smiled. "Happy to help. Oh, hey, Duncan!"

A hulking blond in a varsity jacket put an arm around Jean's waist, drawing her away. "I didn't see you all weekend, babe."

"Yeah, I decided to hang around the Institute. We got a new student. Duncan, this is Scott Summers."

"Hey." I wondered why Jean hadn't mentioned she had a boyfriend. We'd talked a lot the past few days.

"So you're living at the Institute, too, huh?" The way Duncan looked me up and down told me why Jean hadn't informed him about me.

But then maybe she hadn't deliberately hidden my existence; she didn't seem to notice the tension as Duncan sized me up, evidently trying to decide if I was a threat or not. Shifting her bag onto her other shoulder, she said, "I gotta get to class. I'll see you in history, Scott."

I wished she hadn't said that. She walked away, oblivious.

Duncan turned to face me. "You stay away from her, Summers."

"Oh, come on," I said, rolling my eyes. "We're not in middle school. Don't go pulling that crap."

"You'd better not give me a reason to."

I took a step closer, happy to discover I was a good two inches taller than him. "Look, man. There's nothing going on between us. I'm not here to steal your girlfriend. But if you don't like us being friends, take it up with Jean. I'm sure she'd love to know that her idiot boyfriend doesn't trust her."

Duncan opened his mouth to say something when the bell rang. I turned away and headed off to be late to my first biology class. It wasn't really my business who Jean dated, but why Duncan? She seemed way too mature for him. It might not be my place to question her relationship, but that didn't mean I had to like it.


	3. The time we didn't work on our essays

I stared down at my open notebook, trying to make sense of my chicken-scratch handwriting. From what was legible, it was a decent first draft. I needed to type it up, but Scott was using my laptop. Apparently, he didn't like writing by hand. And from the number of times I'd heard him unstick my not-quite-broken backspace button, I guessed he was an edit-as-you-go type.

When I grew tired of waiting, I asked, "What topic did you pick again?"

Without looking up from the screen, he replied, "War of the Spanish Succession."

"Huh."

Now he looked up. "What?"

"Nothing. It just seems a little broad."

"Of course it does to you, Miss 'The popularity of _Robinson Crusoe_ in the eighteenth century reflects the rampant colonial imperialism of the time.'"

I had to admit, I was impressed he remembered my thesis statement verbatim.

I stood up and crossed to his side of the table. "All right then, let's see how you're doing."

He moved to shield the screen in protest. "Hey, no reading till I'm done!"

"Oh, come on! You can read mine!"

"No I can't, your handwriting is terrible," he teased.

I plopped down in the chair beside him to face him better. "Well, I could've typed it up by now if _someone_ "-I jabbed his side-"wasn't hogging my laptop."

"Last I checked, we made a deal," he laughed. "I get to use your laptop, and you get to ride to school in my car."

"But we can both use your car at the same time!"

I moved to jab him again, but he grabbed my wrist and wouldn't let go. Glaring in mock anger, I tried the other side, but that just resulted in him having hold of my other wrist as well. He was grinning until I yanked back as hard as I could and we both tumbled to the floor; then we were both laughing. I'm not sure which one of us started the tickling, but I do know I was the one who yanked a cushion off the nearest couch and whacked him over the head. And then he chased me around the table with a throw pillow. I think he was the one who knocked the chair over, but I can't be sure.

We were on the floor, laughing breathlessly, when we heard a chuckle coming from the doorway.

"Everything okay in here?"

Scott bolted up, his ears as red as his glasses. "Storm! Um, everything's f-fine."

From my position on the floor, I said as matter-of-factly as I could, "We're just finishing our history essays."

We stayed silent until Storm's footsteps could no longer be heard down the hall. Then we looked at each other and burst out laughing all over again.


	4. The time she saw too much

_Flames surrounded me. And the smoke-it filled my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my lungs. I could barely make out Dad's face as he knelt in front of me, securing the heavy parachute on my shoulders. I didn't want to leave him. Or Mom. I couldn't do it. But then Dad gripped my shoulders hard and said, "You gotta look after him now, Scott. He needs you."_

 _That was the only thing he could have said to convince me to listen to him. As soon as Alex's parachute was on, I grabbed his hand to get ready to jump. But then he looked back, and I couldn't stop myself from doing it, too. I tried not to cry as our parents enveloped us in one last crushing hug before Dad pushed us back toward the open door of the plane. This time I didn't give Alex a chance to look back again. I just stepped off the edge, taking him with me._

I bolted upright, knocking my copy of _Julius Caesar_ to the floor. I hadn't had that dream in a couple of months, not since before coming to the Institute. Adjusting my glasses, I berated myself for falling asleep in the den where anyone could have seen-

She was standing in the doorway.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Jean, I, uh, didn't-didn't see you there."

"Scott." She stepped in the room and I realized she was shaking. "Scott, are you okay?"

"Yeah," I assured her, trying to sound casual. "Why would-" Suddenly it hit me, why she was there, why she seemed so upset, why she seemed so worried about me. "You saw?"

She nodded her head, looking scared. My jaw tightened, and before I could say anything I'd regret, I stood up and brushed past her out of the room.


	5. The time he was still my friend

I'd screwed up with my stupid telepathy before, but never quite that badly. I felt awful. Whatever I'd seen was obviously really personal. I hadn't meant to invade Scott's privacy - really, I hadn't. As I was passing by the den, this image of fire suddenly broadcast itself into my mind. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't real. I'd heard voices of thoughts plenty of times, but I'd never seen images like that before. I had no idea telepathy could be visual like that.

When I heard a man call Scott's name, I started to figure out that I was seeing one of his thoughts, a memory or a dream or something. I should have tried to shut it out right away, but I was so scared and I couldn't figure out what I was seeing and I didn't even think that I should be trying not to see it.

I'd never seen Scott angry before. Evidently he was too angry to speak to me after the whole incident; I didn't see him until the next day.

Saturday morning we found out that the Professor and Logan were off doing who knows what, and Storm seemed to sense that there was a lot of tension between me and Scott and gave us the day off. The two of us were sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal in silence. I found myself almost wishing we did have training today. Maybe being forced to work together would help us figure out how to talk again.

"I am really sorry. About last night."

Scott glanced up at me, then quickly back down at his bowl. "Don't worry about it. I overreacted."

I ran my fingers through a section of my hair, working out the small knots that no amount of brushing could seem to prevent. After what felt like five minutes, I cleared my throat. "So, um, would you be up for maybe getting in some training on our own?"

"What'd you have in mind?"

Seeing that he was actually looking at me, I forced myself to maintain eye contact. "I was thinking maybe some target practice."

Holding my gaze, Scott considered for a moment before answering, "Sure. Let's go get dressed and then - where should we meet?"

"The west lawn?"

"Okay. See you in a few."

I hurried back to my room and hastily changed into jeans and a tee and grabbed my jacket. I was pulling my hair into a low ponytail when Scott came jogging up, his usual glasses replaced with the visor he always wore for training sessions.

"So why aren't we in the Danger Room?"

In answer, I telekinetically lifted up a clump of earth about the size of a soccer ball. It hovered up in the air about fifty feet away. "Try to hit it."

Raising a hand to his visor, Scott let loose a small beam. It would have hit my dirt clod, but at the last second I moved it a few feet to the right. I risked a glance over at Scott and was happy to see the corners of his mouth turned up in just the tiniest hint of a smile.

On his fifth try, he finally hit his target and it exploded in a shower of soil. He turned to me, grinning. "What else you got?"

"How good is your eyesight?"

"20/20 - well, last anyone was able to check it."

"Good." This time I swept leaves, about twenty in all, from where they lay in the grass up into the air. They were scattered across a stretch of space about thirty feet across. Immediately, Scott's hand was up at his visor, and he shot down three in rapid succession.

"No fair! At least don't make your beams bigger than the leaves!" I laughed, a bit breathless; it was hard maintaining a connection with so many objects at once.

He complied, and he teased me when he shot five more without missing. But then by the time there were six left, he was missing more than twice as often as he was actually hitting his targets. The very last one took him a good fifteen tries.

"Not bad, Jean." Scott was smiling, and I smiled back, relieved that we were acting like friends again.

"Not bad, yourself."

"Go again?"

We went a few more rounds, with our makeshift targets getting increasingly harder for me to control and for Scott to hit. I finally protested that I was starting to get a headache and we stopped, intending to take a five-minute break. We never did get back to it. We sat in the grass, talking about homework and music and which Star Wars movie was the best (The Empire Strikes Back, obviously). We spent the rest of the morning like that, and by the time we went inside for lunch, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off me. Yeah, telepathy sucked, but maybe it didn't have to mean I'd never have a friend like Scott.


	6. The time she let me read her mind

It couldn't wait until the next morning. I had to talk to Jean that night. I got out of bed, threw on a t-shirt, and headed down to the second floor. Hoping she was still for some reason awake, I knocked on her bedroom door.

After a second, a soft light streamed out from the crack under the door. Next moment, Jean was standing in the doorway in striped pajama pants and a tank, hair pulled to the side in a sloppy braid. Understandably, she looked surprised to see me. "Scott?"

"Sorry, guess I woke you."

"Yeah, no, it's fine. Um, come in." Yawning, she shook her head as though to shake off the last traces of the sleep I'd dragged her out of and stepped aside so I could enter. As I sat at the foot of her bed, she softly shut the door before sitting at the head, hugging her pillow to her chest. "It's almost midnight, what's up?"

I ran a hand through my hair. "Listen, I'm really sorry I woke you up. I just - I couldn't sleep. I owe you an apology."

Jean's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"I was a real jerk about last night - no, let me finish. I know you, and I know you probably think that happened was your fault, like you should have tried harder or something. But I know how much you hate using your telepathy, and I know how hard you try to shut everything out. It wasn't your fault." I looked down at her quilt, fingering the designs. "And yeah, there's some stuff I try to keep private for a reason. I'm just sorry you had to see that. And," I looked back up at her, "I'm sorry for the way I reacted. I never should have done anything to make you feel like you deserved for me to be angry with you."

Looking at me in disbelief, she stammered, "Wow. Um, thanks. Thank you." Her hands ran down the end of her braid, over and over. "I am sorry, though. I mean, I didn't really understand what I saw, but I knew it was something I shouldn't - I shouldn't have seen, and I'm really sorry."

I half smiled. "Well, let's just both agree to forgive each other. And I'll try to be more understanding from now on."

Jean smiled back, looking more content than I think I'd ever seen her. "Okay. And I'll try not to pry into your dreams again."

"Deal. Uh, Jean?" I hesitated. "What you saw, that was, um -"

"Scott, you don't have to -"

"No, actually. I -" I took a deep breath. "I think I do." I swung my legs up onto the bed and sat cross-legged to face her better. "When I was ten, my parents and my brother and I were in a plane that got struck by lightning. There were only two parachutes - I don't know why. My parents stayed on the plane while my brother and I jumped. My parents didn't survive the crash, and Alex -" I swallowed hard. "They never found him."

"So what I saw...that was a memory?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I dream about it. A lot. But last night, that was the first time I'd had that dream since I got here."

Jean shifted a bit closer to me. "I'm sorry, Scott," she said simply.

I shrugged. "Yeah, well..." I glanced at her bedroom door. "To be honest, I'm not really looking forward to going to sleep again," I admitted.

"Ask me something. Anything."

"Wait, what?"

She moved her pillow from her lap back to the headboard behind her. "It just doesn't seem fair, me finding out stuff about you without you wanting me to."

"No, no, I'm actually kind of glad you know now."

Jean smiled a bit, but pressed on. "Yeah, well, here's your chance to read my mind. Go ahead, ask me anything." She sat up straighter, physically opening herself up a bit more.

Chuckling, a cast my mind about for a question. "Okay, uh...how'd you find out about your powers?"

Her eyes seemed to harden for a moment, and I wondered if maybe I shouldn't have asked.

"No, it's fine, I -" Her eyes flew open wide. "You didn't say that out loud, did you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, Jean," I said softly, and I realized I meant it. "I could tell I caught you off-guard with that. You okay?"

She went back to running her hands over her braid. "Yeah, I just...I spent a long time here trying not to think about that." I was about to protest that she didn't have to tell me, but she continued softly, "But maybe I need to. Is it - do you still want to know?"

"Only if you want me to," I assured her.

"I do." She nodded. "Yeah, I do. Gosh, how do I even explain this? Um, last summer...June fourth...my best friend and I were heading back to my house after a party down at the lake. She was a year older than me, so she drove me everywhere and got me into parties all the time. We hadn't been drinking, but a couple of guys had, and one of them hit us." She bit her lip for a moment before continuing. "I'm still not sure I really understand what happened. I woke up in a hospital over a month later. They told me I'd been in a coma and they weren't sure why because, physically, there wasn't much wrong with me aside from a few cuts." She was fingering the scar on her left forearm. I'd noticed it before, but I'd never asked her how she got it.

She took a deep breath. "I met the Professor while I was in the hospital, and he explained to me about my powers. He told me that when we got hit, I formed a - a psychic bond. With Rachel. Like I completely connected our minds. Rachel took most the impact from the crash, and she - " Jean took a shaky breath. "She died almost instantly. I went into a coma because my mind was still connected to hers. I don't remember any of it, but the Professor had to enter my mind and help me separate from hers, or I'd probably still be in a coma." She'd been looking down at her hands in lap, but now she met my gaze. "So, yeah, that's how I ended up here."

I was shocked. Jean had always struck me as a little naive, like she hadn't really had much bad happen in her life. I never would have thought she'd been through anything that traumatic, especially not so recently. And she told me about it, willingly. Me, who'd barely known her two months.

"Jean, I - that's awful. How - How long had you known her? Rachel?"

She managed a small smile. "We lived on the same street our whole lives, up until her parents' divorce. She was fourteen, and I was thirteen. And after that, she pretty much lived at my house. Her mom moved out of state, just left her, and her dad...wasn't the best parent. So she stayed at my place a lot. She was family. We did everything together."

Looking back down at her hands, she said quietly, "My rings that I always wear, they were hers. I got one for her her thirteenth birthday, and every year after that. I can't bring myself to take them off."

Suddenly, she stood up. "Okay, I'm really hungry. Let's go find something to eat before I start crying."

We went down to the kitchen, and upon finding a bag of chocolate chips, Jean declared that she wanted cookies. We forgot to halve the recipe and ended up baking four dozen, and in the process got into a bit of a food fight so there was flour everywhere. But we had everything cleaned up by the time the cookies were done baking, and we sat on the counter and ate a whole pan between the two of us.

Eventually, we made our way back upstairs. We stopped at her doorway, looking at each other, and I felt like there was something I was supposed to say but I didn't know what.

She surprised me by suddenly wrapping her arms around me, and in that moment that I held her against my chest, I decided that maybe we didn't need to say anything.


End file.
